but then by the morning, comes tumblin' down...
Gaheris' spell of normalcy has passed like the shadow of clouds on water, rippling off. That sort of thing is never bound to last long with him, but the change comes unsubtly, with few warnings--a few days of wrongly patterned memories, more out of order than usual, though that's hard to discern--before it catches him off steady footing and back into the crazy places that eat him up.
He's sitting on the steps of the Mansion, in jeans but no shirt, watching the snow fall on his folded hands. His shaggy dark hair is streaked with shining bits of ice, and there's a significant shadow of stubble on his cheeks and chin. His shoulders are shaking.
Very calmly, with a great deal of precision, he is carrying on a conversation with his mother. His eyes are firmly fixed on his hands, and his hands are steady; from his end, things seem to be going moderately well, although every now and then his voice cracks.
The real problem is that his mother isn't there.
He's sitting on the steps of the Mansion, in jeans but no shirt, watching the snow fall on his folded hands. His shaggy dark hair is streaked with shining bits of ice, and there's a significant shadow of stubble on his cheeks and chin. His shoulders are shaking.
Very calmly, with a great deal of precision, he is carrying on a conversation with his mother. His eyes are firmly fixed on his hands, and his hands are steady; from his end, things seem to be going moderately well, although every now and then his voice cracks.
The real problem is that his mother isn't there.